


Finding Serenity

by NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable



Category: Firefly, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bounty Hunter, Crossover, Drama, F/M, Pirates, Post-War, Romance, space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable/pseuds/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable
Summary: It's been six years since the final battle in the Unification War, only some wars are never really over, and some soldiers never really know how to come home.





	1. On the Raggedy Edge

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give a HUGE thank you to Ice_Cube44 for beta'ing, cheerleading, threatening, cajoling, begging, bribing, and all around pushing for this fic to happen (AND CHECK OUT HER ART!!!!!!). You're awesome (and evil) and this probably wouldn't have happened without you.
> 
> I love Firefly a whole lot, I love OUAT, so it seemed only natural to combine my two favourite pirates in an adventure of their own. This will be Captain Swan, eventually, but there will be a bumpy road ahead. I hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> Rated M for eventual violence and romance, so please keep that in mind.

**_On the Raggedy Edge_ **

_He notices her before she can see him, her path marked by her bright yellow dress and the colourful flowers she clutches in her fist as she weaves through the trees.  He keeps some of his attention on the smallest of the sheep nearest him, making sure that each gets their turn at the food trough, watching the girl in the sparse forest.  She's young, perhaps a little younger than he is, but not by too much.  Her hair is just as golden as her dress, flying behind her freely._

_He waits.  Maybe she'll come closer.  Maybe she’ll even say hello._

_He chases away that thought with a forceful shake of his head, a frown on his lips.  He shouldn't wish for such things. The captain will become suspicious of her, as he does with all new faces, and he'll take it out on the boys in his care._

_Care.  He wants to laugh, but only to keep the tears away.  If care means just enough food to keep the boys from dying, just enough sleep to keep them productive._

_He glances back toward the ship, to his brother who helps build the fence for the flock.  One day he'll be allowed to help with the heavier tasks, one day he'll not be forced to wade among the sheep droppings in the field._

_One day, he might even be free._

_He hears a noise from the woods, turns back quickly before he can remind himself that freedom is just a dream.  The little girl is nowhere to be-_

_There.  Just at the edge of the trees, he sees her.  The yellow dress, now covered in mud, flowers strewn about on the ground as her hands scrabble in the dirt.  She’s half-sunk into what must be a hole in the ground, a small ditch of some kind.  She struggles to free herself, she can’t seem to get out, though she doesn’t stop trying._

_He wants to help, he wants to… but he can’t, the cuff on his wrist linked to the ship.  If he gets too far from the Firefly, if he ventures more than a few paces from the electronically tagged sheep, it’ll go off.  The painful shock through his small body is nothing compared to the beating he’ll get afterward.  But he has to help her, he has to do something._

_Ignoring his brother’s cry for him to return, he holds tightly to the lamb beside him, encouraging the beast to accompany him.  If he can just bring the animal close enough, perhaps he can rescue the girl without punishment._

_He’s almost beside her, he can see her fear clearly as he approaches the small hole.  He sees her foot, trapped in the dirt and rocks that must have fallen in as she tripped.  She doesn’t say anything, her green eyes pleading with him loudly enough.  She must know what he is, she must, but she doesn’t flinch as he draws near, her fear is not for him._

_He recognises it in a flash, it’s the same as his own.  The fear of being left behind._

_More determined to help her, he keeps one hand on the lamb at his side and bends down beside her.  Using his free hand to scrape away the rocks and dirt, they work together in silence, and soon her foot is free.  She scrambles up from the pit, gathering her once abandoned flowers as she does._

_He stands._

_For a moment, they stare at each other, her eyes wide, no trace of her earlier panic, filled instead with words she almost says.  He doesn’t talk, can’t talk, he fears he won’t know what to say, or how.  It’s been so long since he’s been allowed to speak to someone from outside the ship._

_She smiles.  He feels his mouth turn up at the corners in response.  He’s surprised; he was certain he didn’t remember how to smile anymore.  She looks down at her hands, at the flowers coated in dust from the ground.  Carefully, she pulls out a small blue one, nearly the same colour as his eyes._

_Still smiling, she hands it to him.  He hesitates, uncertain.  He can’t keep it, he can barely manage to hold onto the few possessions they’re permitted on the ship, keep them from falling into the hands of the older boys, or the crew.  He can’t, but he needs to, some part of him wants this flower more than anything he’s ever wanted._

_Even more than his freedom._

_His fingers tighten around the stem, brushing against hers ever so slightly.  She doesn’t let go._

_Instead, she steps forward, closer, the lamb backing up a half step with her approach.  Before he can react, before he can pull away, she kisses him, a brief peck on the cheek._

_She laughs then, her voice light and impossibly beautiful.  She laughs, and he wants to laugh with her, if he only knew how._

_Without a word, she releases the flower, turns, and heads back into the woods, weaving her path through the trees as brightly as before, though her dress is far from clean.  The smile on her face as she turns back to him one last time makes up for that._

_He heads back to the rest of the flock, the small sheep still at his side, the flower held tightly in his fingers, the cuff on his wrist silent.  He finds a place to hide the flower, hopes he can keep it safe for a while, the only reminder of the one person who gave him a chance to be a more than just a slave._

_Later that evening, he’s beaten anyway, for figuring out a way around the electronic leash they’ve tied to his arm._

_The whispered memory of her kiss on his cheek lingers long after the bruises fade away._

* * *

Captain Hook stood on the bridge of the _Jolly Roger_ , staring out into the black.  The enemy cruiser was just ahead, he could almost make out her contours against the glow of the moon behind her.  No matter, the radar had it pinpointed with more accuracy than his eyes ever could.

Alliance Patrol Boat, same model as the _Jolly_ , though Hook knew he had far more weapons aimed at the APB than could ever be directed back at him.  The benefit of hiring an ex-military crew - they never left anything to chance.

“Sir, we’re coming up on the _Winchester_ in about five minutes,” the pilot said quietly.  Lieutenant Charles Hunter knew Hook didn’t need more information than that.  They’d been at this for close to six years now, had the entire procedure down to a routine.

Find the ships.  Salvage for useable materials.  Blast them out of the sky.  Keep flying.

“Good,” Hook acknowledged with a nod.  “Scramble their communication in two.”

It almost felt _too_ routine for Hook.  Six years was a long time to wage a war against an enemy that didn’t seem to care that he existed, aside from the vexing attacks from which they had yet to successfully protect themselves.  He had lost track of how many Alliance ships he’d captured after the first fifty they’d disabled.  Each haul usually yielded more weapons, more food supplies, more medical equipment, and the occasional load of seed crops or cattle.  He never took the cattle, couldn’t handle the stench of the animals on his ship, not anymore.

He sighed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck to rub out the knots of muscle that formed just over his left shoulder, ignoring the familiar shocks of pain that climbed that arm from beneath the brace he wore at the end of it.  Always happened before a raid, no matter how simple, the blunted wrist and curved metal hook in place of his missing hand the only physical reminders of why he was even firing on an Alliance patrol in the first place.

Hook sighed again, trying to breathe out the pain through his mouth.  He was exhausted - tired of fighting, tired of the attacks, tired of trying to justify the swath of destruction he left in his wake, trying to find some purpose in his actions where there was none, not anymore.  All the anger, all the hurt, it felt as if it had burned itself out a long time ago, and he had nothing left to fuel his hatred toward the government that had taken everything from him, nothing to recharge the sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in ages.

He was just… tired.

“Everything all right, Captain?” Hunter asked, eyeing him carefully.  The man was loyal to a fault, nearly as reliable as Smee, who, if Hook had to guess, was off securing the weapons for the boarding party.  Hunter was the best pilot he could have asked for, and it only helped that Hunter’s entire platoon had been destroyed in a mistaken burst of friendly fire, Hunter himself left behind amid the wreckage.  All Hook's crew had the same common enemy, a target on which to focus their hate and anger and feelings of uselessness after the war left them broken in more ways than just physical, and it was what kept them all in the sky.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant.”  He dropped his hand from his neck, the tensed muscles still throbbing beneath his skin.  “Call me over the com when it’s over.  I’m going on with the boarding party.”

“Very good, sir.”

Hook turned and left the bridge.

As usual, the raid went off without a hitch.  Communication equipment destroyed and no way to call for help, the few officers on the _Winchester_ surrendered after little gunfire and a handful of casualties.  Hook hadn’t lost a single man.  He stalked past the tightly-bound Alliance personnel guarded by his crew, and headed for the cargo bay to catalogue the inventory.

Crates with various forms of weaponry were stacked four high, mostly military grade, but a few smaller pieces as well.  A row of brand new plasma cannons lined the side, and Hook nodded approvingly.  His could use updating, and his men would be glad to have a few more guns on board.  There were smaller bins off to the back, foodstuffs and planting materials, a few boxes of farm equipment and animal feed.

Good.  He could use a quick trip to Hera, hadn’t been back in nearly six months.  The villagers there would be glad to have it, he knew, despite never having stayed long enough to see the people’s faces when they found what he’d left.

He didn’t need to see the accusations in their faces either, when they found out his role in their destruction.

An oblong crate behind the cannons caught his eye, the rust at the edges a clear sign that this wasn’t normal Alliance cargo.  They tended to prefer their shipments brand new, not worn and used like that.  Likely something they confiscated from some backwoods moon, from some poor farmers or homesteaders who had the poor luck to be citizens.

He slid past the heavy guns, the black leather of his long coat pulling behind him as he did.  Using the sharpened metal tip of his hook, slightly bloodied from the one guard he’d stabbed a few minutes back, he carefully pried open the dented metal lid.

It came off with a sharp hiss, the crate had been clearly sealed hermetically before he’d interfered.  Something preserved, then.  Hopefully food, more fresh than the flavoured protein bars and canned assortment the ship’s cook was currently using.  He lifted up the lid and nearly fell back in alarm, dropping the metal heavily onto the cargo bay floor with a loud clang that muffled his gasp of surprise.

Flowers.

The crate was brimming with them, all different colours, all different sizes and shapes, more than he’d seen in years, not since well before the war.  The small tags on a few of them clearly pointed to the original owners of the flowers, a shop located somewhere on Shadow.  But that was impossible, Shadow had been utterly devastated after the Independents lost the war, retribution for the amount of Browncoat rebels to come from the area.  Alliance ships had scoured the ground, burning huge swaths of land and villages and homes without discrimination.

Thousands had died there, the planet destroyed, the land infertile and unfit for human colonisation.  For these flowers to have come from Shadow, they were old, at least six years old.  They should have withered away to nothing, shouldn’t be hiding amid the weapons that murdered the people who cared for them, cultivated them, loved them.

Without a word, Hook left the cargo bay, leaving behind the ghosts of a long-dead planet to wither in the recycled atmosphere of the ship.

His men made quick work loading up the guns, the cannons, the food supplies, bringing them across to the _Jolly Roger_ efficiently and quietly.  They piloted away from the APB with the last load of goods back to Hook's ship.

They left the flowers behind.

As soon as the crates were unloaded on the _Jolly,_ as soon as the shuttle was sealed up for another day, another raid, weapons stacked in the locker beside it, Hook returned to the bridge.  Standing behind Hunter, he could clearly see every detail of the crippled Alliance ship in front of them, the moonlight casting shadows across her edges.

“Destroy it,” Hook said quietly.  Hunter nodded and prepared the guns to fire.  Hook closed his eyes, the faint hum of cannon fire rumbling through the ship under his feet.

Captain Hook left the bridge, and didn't look back.

* * *

Emma Swan sat in her shuttle, looking over the report she’d just printed off the Cortex.  Her newest job, one she was finding more and more unsettling.  As a bounty hunter, she’d brought in various pirates over the years - usually Alliance bounties paid better than private, but this job was almost too good to be true.  A former contact on Ezra had brought her this contract, but each new piece of information she learned made her regret her eager acceptance more and more, despite the money it offered.

The bounty didn’t have a name, that should have been her first clue.  Just a code he went by, a nickname based on the hook he wore instead of a hand he must’ve lost.  Whether he was born that way or not, no one seemed to know.  He’d simply showed up in the ‘verse about six years ago, just months after Unification Day, the official end to the civil war that had destroyed so many lives, including her own.

She frowned, reading over the reports of the early attacks he’d led against Alliance patrols, ultimately stealing one of the mid-sized APBs to claim as his own.   _The Jolly Roger,_ he called it, after the old pirate flags from centuries ago, trying to instill a more classic sense of piracy on his brand of destruction.  He and his crew only attacked Alliance vessels, though, and not for the first time, she wondered why the contract she had for this rogue wasn’t from the Union of Allied Planets, but from some old guy with a heavy accent holed up in an orbiting space station.

This target hadn’t attacked a single civilian boat in all his time terrorising the skies.  Hadn’t even fired on one to get them to turn away.  This Captain Hook, whoever he was, seemed singularly focused on destroying only one particular type of ship:  Alliance.

Emma sighed, shuffling the papers into a mostly-neat stack and stowing them in the pocket near the console.  Her ship was fueled up, ready to go, the converted Firefly 1 shuttle - nicknamed the Beetle - had a range of a week’s travelling before she had to worry about restocking again.  She planned to head off to Persephone, download new intel on her bounty, and see where that led her.  There had been reports of a few recent Alliance attacks, matching similar reports from Hook’s previous raids.  It was worth checking out.

She spared a single glance at the small photo at the edge of the console, just one look, the picture memorised years ago, unforgettable.  The little boy looking back at her, his green eyes the same colour as hers, the silent pleading in his eyes the reason she kept going each day.

If only the bounties she caught could bring her one step closer to _him_.

She sighed and looked away.  This wasn’t the time to go running off on sentimental missions.  She had work to do, coin to make.  Then, maybe she could afford to take some time off.  Maybe she could find the one person who eluded her for so many years, the one person she’d failed so miserably.

After all, Niska was definitely paying her enough to catch this Captain Hook to afford some vacation time.

Emma flipped the switches on the console, started up the Beetle, and plotted her course to Persephone.

* * *

“Forty percent, final offer.”

Badger looked nervous, _exuded_ it, really, his neckerchief soaked in sweat before he’d even settled at the small table a few minutes before.  Something was up, something he wasn’t saying, and Captain Malcolm Reynolds didn’t like people holding out on him.

“Fifty,” Mal countered, taking a sip of the god-awful piss water the ‘businessman’ claimed to brew himself.  He tried not to flinch as he swallowed.

“Mal, come on,” Badger pleaded, his voice taking on a note of desperation Mal hadn’t heard from him in a long time.  “I gotta pay my crew, right?  Can’t ‘ave you takin’ all the loot befo’ they even get their cut.”

Mal traded glances with Zoe who was silent as usual, a raised eyebrow the only sign she was paying attention.  He took another sip, choked it down, and leaned forward.

“Way I see it,” Mal said, his voice even, unrushed.  Let Badger squirm a mite longer, it was probably good for him.  “Your crew ain’t the ones taking up arms against this supposedly dangerous pirate.  Mine is.  So either we get half the reward, or there’s no deal.”

“Mal, look at it from my-” the other man began, but Reynolds held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Look, why you got youself a contract like this, I ain’t asking,” Mal said, staring hard into Badger’s eyes.  “Maybe you want to clean up the sky, make the ‘verse a safer place for honest criminals like yourself.  Maybe someone’s got your naughty bits twisting in the wind.  Don’t much matter to me.  But the deal’s this - fifty, or you find yourself another sucker who’ll take your offer.”

Mal leaned back, took another drink from the cup - or would have if there had been any left.  Small favours.  He pretended to swallow it anyway - no reason for Badger to know he wasn’t quite as drunk as he wanted.  He waited.

Badger’s face twisted angrily, visibly considering his options.  It was a dangerous job, Mal had to admit, and not one that he usually agreed to take, but with the buckets of sweat the other man was shedding through his clothes there seemed to be more here than met the eye.  Someone wanted this money, someone big, scary enough to make Badger nervous.  Not Alliance, Badger didn’t much care to get involved in their politics.  Some other player then.

“Fine,” Badger spat out.  “You’ll get your fifty.  Find the guy, grab the loot, bring it back ‘ere to me, and ye’ll have the money.”

Mal smiled.  “Then we have a deal.  Pleasure, as always.”  He stood, straightening the brown coat across his shoulders, the holstered weapon at his side.  Zoe stood as well, ready to go.  “We’ll just see ourselves out then?” he asked, motioning toward the door.  “Unless you had more of that wonderfu-”

“Ge’ out,” Badger snapped, and Mal’s smile grew wider still.

He and Zoe turned and left the complex.

“I don’t like it, sir,” Zoe said quietly as they headed back to the ship.  “Something’s not right with this one.”

“Yeah, I know it,” Mal agreed, finally allowing the frown to cross his face.  “Badger’s actin’ too jumpy for this to be a simple cash grab.”

“I say we go back, tell him we changed our minds.”

He stopped completely just outside _Serenity_ , turned and stared at his second in command, the Corporal who stayed with him throughout all the fighting during the war, throughout everything they went through after.  In all that time, Zoe never changed her mind about anything, never admitted weakness to an enemy looking to exploit it.  If she was spooked this badly…

“The money’s too good to pass up,” Mal said quietly.  “With Inara gone, we need the coin, more than ever.  Too many repairs to make, too many things Kaylee’s noticed about to go wrong.  Can’t have that, not again.  We need this job, Zoe.  We need it.”

She nodded, but her eyes didn’t agree.  “I just don’t like it.”

“So we keep our eyes open, stay alert, and get the job done.”  He grinned, hoping to force some optimism he didn’t really feel.  “Besides, when else do we get to chase after a real live pirate named Captain Hook?”

Zoe didn’t smile as she and Mal made their way up the ramp of the waiting Firefly.


	2. Where I Cannot Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @icecubelotr44 is amazing - she made the banner for this (eep!), her beta’ing keeps me focused (uh... usually... ), and all of her excitement just helped me get back into the groove of this and I can’t wait to finish it and share the rest! All final mistakes and extraneous commas are my own.

**_ _ **

**_Where I Cannot Stand_ **

_He climbs out of the small skiff, the prisoner transport ship landing heavily nearby, too many guards filing out.  Adjusting his uniform and the sidearm strapped to his waist, he takes a deep breath.  The smell of scorched earth fills his nose, his eyes watering from the lingering smoke in the air.  He’s never quite gotten used to this part of battle - the cleanup, dealing with the dead, with the dying, the injured, the survivors._

_The prisoners._

_He glances up the rocky hill, trying his best to ignore the scores of bodies strewn on the ground.  At the beginning, when he’d first joined, it was the hardest part, the men and women lying there, eyes open as if still alive, fingers holding tightly to their weapons as they remained motionless in the dirt.  He’d thrown up twice after his first battle, from the view of the aftermath alone._

_After three years, it hasn’t gotten much easier._

_He swallows hard, pushing back the rising nausea and focusing his attention on the living instead of the dead.  They’re guarded at the makeshift bunker halfway up the hill, nestled against a large boulder.  Two survivors.  From the thousands of soldiers in the Independent platoon stationed there, only they live, against the overwhelming numbers of the Alliance armed forces, against impossible odds._

_But they weren’t even meant to survive, he knows.  He’d overheard their communications to their own command, heard as they begged for support, begged to be rescued, only for their request to be turned down.  They were left behind, these two, abandoned by their own generals._

_It wasn’t a fair fight; it wasn’t what he signed up for.  It wasn’t how he wanted to win the war._

_He’d reported the communication interception to his superiors, reported that their high command was telling them to lay down arms and surrender, but none of the officers would listen, not even his brother, too focused on his own duties as captain of the warship.  More ships descended on the valley, blasting everything that moved, despite their clear inability to fight back._

_It was a slaughter, an outright massacre.  And now he was supposed to just waltz in and pick up the gorram pieces._

_Never in the three years since he’d joined the Navy has he felt so lost, unmoored in the swirling thoughts that spin through his head, pulling him in all different directions at once.  The enemy - left behind by their own people.  His commanders - ignoring an obvious surrender and ripping through the remaining opponents._

_He doesn’t know what to think anymore._

_He’d joined to make a difference in the war, to help establish the law and order that the border planets and moons were clearly lacking, to help prevent what happened to him and his brother from ever happening to anyone again.  But it seemed that both sides were willing to sacrifice the individuals in pursuit of victory - the individuals he’d hoped to protect - and without even a casual glance back._

_He scrubs a hand across his eyes and down his face, feeling the scratch of the three-day stubble against his palm, trying to push the whirring thoughts from his head for another time.  Better get this over with, there will be plenty of time to think later, talk things through with his brother now that this battle is finally over.  With a sigh, he heads up the hill toward the bunker, watching the dust swirling up around his boots with each step he takes._

_The prisoners kneel in the dirt, hands linked behind their heads, as motionless as the bodies outside.  They don’t look up at him as he steps over the sandbags strewn about, and he’s glad.  He doesn’t really want to see the defeat in their eyes, not when he’s not sure he can hide his own muddled thoughts well enough._

_“Stand, soldiers,” he says.  “Please.”_

_The woman, a corporal, looks up at him, dark eyes flashing as she gets to her feet.  The man… he’s barely blinking, looks almost completely unaware of what’s going on.  Shell-shocked, he thinks.  Trauma of battle, most likely._

_He knows that’s not it._

_After a moment, the man - ranked sergeant by the tattered remains of his uniform under his thick brown coat, stands as well, his eyes focused elsewhere and nowhere at all._

_“Ship’s just down the hill,” he says to the prisoners - the survivors - almost gently, and he ignores the hard stares of his junior officers and guards near him.  Overkill, he thinks bitterly, why the hell he needs eight people to guard two unarmed prisoners is beyond him.  But protocol must be followed, even here, even now.  “I’d appreciate it if you’d walk with us, I’d rather not use the restraints if possible.  The hill’s pretty rocky, I wouldn’t want you to lose your footing.”_

_He doesn’t tell them how the cuffs that the guards carry remind him so much of the one he was forced to wear as a boy, the one he couldn’t remove no matter how much he tried, the one he hated for what it meant.  That he wasn’t free, that he wasn’t a person on his own, that he was nothing, no one, owned by someone else._

_His words catch the man’s attention, finally.  He turns to look, his blue eyes empty and so full of pain at the same time, hauntingly familiar._

_“Why do you care?” the sergeant asks quietly, his voice hoarse, his hands still held behind his head.  His corporal stands silently beside him, her eyes begging the same question though she doesn’t say a word._

_“Your quarrel is not with me, Sergeant,” he says._

_“No,” the man says slowly, “just your government.”_

_He winces inwardly, unease settling deeper in his belly.  ‘Your government.’  As if he owns it, is responsible for it and all the mistakes the Alliance makes, all the lives it’s taken, all the death around them now, and he’s suddenly aware of how much he doesn’t want the association.  Not anymore, not after the battle he’s just helped them to win, not this way.  He knows about the prisoner camps the Alliance has set up in various areas just outside the active war zones.  He knows where the sergeant and corporal will be taken, how they’ll be treated until the day peace can finally be restored, until they can be free, and he regrets more than ever that he’s the one who’ll have to bring them there._

_He takes another breath instead, hopes the man can’t see the wavering loyalty in his eyes._

_“The war will soon be over, Sergeant,” he says softly, “this is only temporary.  Win or lose, we need to find a way to live together when all this is done, and I’d rather not make any enemies today that I’ll regret in the future.  Someday soon, you’ll be free to stand on your own again.  I’m asking you to take that step now, walk with me under your own power.”_

_The soldier considers this for a moment, the emptiness in his eyes dissipating somewhat, but he doesn’t say another word._

_“Now please, Sergeant Reynolds, come with me.”_

* * *

Hook took a sip from his cup, the sharpness of the alcohol burning a path down his throat as he swallowed.  Good stuff, he had to admit, grimacing a bit.  The bar was mostly empty, not surprising for late afternoon in the small town of Shiloh, and the handful of local patrons kept to their own corners of the room, each lost in their own thoughts and drinks.  A few members of his crew were scattered at some of the tables near the middle, though he sat off to the side with the wall at his back as he surveyed the scene.

He’d never been here before, Shenandoah being one of the larger moons he tended to bypass in favour of smaller, more out-of-the-way places to make port.  Big moon meant more people, and more people meant more chance of Alliance patrol.  He couldn’t risk an encounter with them while his ship was being refueled and restocked, with only eleven men on his ship he didn’t have the manpower.  Besides, the smaller worlds were more desperate for the supplies he could bring them, more likely to trade with a known pirate, more likely to look the other way and forget he’d ever been there in the hopes that he’d return to do further business.

He wasn’t quite sure what drew him to this particular moon.  Maybe it was the fact that it wasn’t too far from Hera, not a bad place to regroup after making the quick cargo drop not miles from the deathly-still area around Serenity Valley.  Maybe it was the vague echoes of a mostly forgotten history from Earth-That-Was tugging at his own memories, long lost stories of bloody battles fought at both Shenandoah and Shiloh - small platoons against the machine of an army that never stopped coming and never looked back.  Maybe it was the sudden need to be near people, lost among strangers, to feel the quiet press of life around him when he only remembered death, the sight of the flowers lying in their hermetic coffin last week weighing more heavily on him than he thought.

He took another swallow, chasing away those thoughts as fast as he could.  He’d promised the crew a couple of days here after the last few months of running from world to world in search of more targets.  They were only too glad to have the time to relax, with plenty of coin to spend as they wished.

Smee came over just then, a mug of dark brown liquid in his hand.

“Care for some company, Captain?” he said, knitted red cap somewhat askew.  Judging by the light pink colouring on the man’s cheeks, it wasn’t his first drink.

“Not really, Mister Smee,” he replied, finishing the last of his drink and dropping the cup heavily to the table.

“Three straight months of solid victories, Captain,” Smee continued as if Hook hadn’t said a thing.  “I’d say that’s cause for some celebration, wouldn’t you?”  He clumsily pulled out a chair and plunked himself down in it, some of the liquid in his cup sloshing over the side.  He didn’t seem to notice.

Instead, he leaned forward, elbows landing with a loud thud on the scarred wooden table, Hook’s empty cup nearly toppling over with the movement.  Hook could feel the slight bubblings of rage, simmering up just below the surface.

“You shouldn’t be alone, sir, pardon me saying so,” Smee said seriously, all traces of a smile falling from his face, and Hook slowly released his hold on his anger.  “This isn’t one of our usual places, we don’t know who can be trusted around here.”

Ah.  So he wasn’t quite as drunk as Hook had initially thought.  Smee had been a solid member of the crew since his first day, keeping track of the men and the political climate of the places they found themselves along their travels.  He’d been a merchant, trading in rare artifacts before Alliance patrols had captured him and his ship, insistent that his goods had been illegally obtained.

It was sheer luck he’d ended up on the _Jolly Roger_.

Hook had been after that specific shipment, back when he’d chosen his targets more discriminately, back when he still had the fire of vengeance burning through him.  Smee had been holed up in the brig and Hook had offered him to come work on his ship in exchange for the goods.  He’d signed up immediately, and quickly became Hook’s second in command.

It was a testament to just how far off his game Hook was today that he had misjudged the man as quickly as he did.

Hook knew he could trust the man’s judgement.  Smee had a good eye for people, knew how to read them, knew when something was up, when something was about to go wrong, and he was rarely wrong.  But for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t in the mood to be cautious, didn’t really feel like hiding.

“You’re right,” he said evenly at last.  “This town isn’t that large, however, and neither is this tavern.  You can just as easily watch over me from the other end of it.”

Smee nodded once.  He knew by now contradicting Hook was rarely a good idea.  He quickly slipped his drunken grin back on his face, stood, and headed back to the rest of the crew who welcomed him with a hearty slap on the back.

Hook let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, the air whispering out through his lips as he closed his eyes.  His hand gripped his empty cup tightly as he just breathed, slowly and evenly, feeling the beat of his heart match the thud of his pulse through his white-knuckled grip on the cup.  This wasn’t how he wanted to start off on the first real break he’d had in months.

He needed another drink.  A quick nod to the barkeep behind the counter, who hurriedly came over and poured more of the amber liquid into his cup before rushing back.  They’d given the man a few extra credits upon entering, and he had made it a point to largely ignore them, except to refill their drinks.

Hook took a long pull of the drink, wishing the fire of the alcohol would burn away his thoughts just a little bit faster.

* * *

“So you’re saying we can take a vacation after all this, right?” Wash asked, setting the controls with one hand as he eyed the captain.  “I mean, the money’s good, we’ll have enough to take some time off for a br-”

“No time,” Mal replied quickly.  “We do the job, bring the money back to Badger, and then we keep moving.  No sense in sittin’ still.”

He wasn’t willing to tell the pilot just how many misgivings he had about the whole thing, how badly he just wanted to finish it and be done, move on.  The image of Badger’s sweat-soaked face surfaced once more and Mal shook it away quickly.   _Focus_.

“Any information where this guy might be?” he asked instead, leaning forward over the console.

Wash looked at him fiercely for a moment - well, as fiercely as he could manage, anyway - before turning away.  Mal knew how badly he needed the time off - hell, they _all_ did, run ragged the last year, all manner of interesting on his ship when all he wanted was quiet.  But with the Tams on board, it was a luxury they’d have to do without, at least until they could find somewhere they knew they would be safe.

Which wasn’t all that many places anymore.

 _Awful crowded up here indeed_ , he thought wryly.

Wash turned back to the screen, pulling up the searches he’d been running as they left Persephone’s atmo.

“Reports from the Georgia system lately,” he said, not looking at Mal.  “Lotta traffic up there, handfull of moons in various stages of terraforming, getting regular supply drops for the crews.  The last month there were three - no, four - attacks against Alliance transports, all the same M.O. - knocked out coms, raided, then blasted.  That’s all I was able to get.”

Great.  All he needed was to go up against a gunship that had no qualms about the destruction of entire ships and their crews.  And _Serenity_ without a single weapon to defend herself.

“Where was the last attack?” he asked.  He tapped the screen over Wash’s shoulder, ignoring the glares that were surely boring into the side of his face as he pulled up a current map.  He had the faintest notion that Wash was sticking his tongue out at him, but he didn’t turn to check.

“Just off Meadow, near Mir,” Wash replied, wrestling back control of the screen to zoom into area.  He tapped the blinking red dot near the moon that wasn’t quite ready for human habitation, but was already stocking up supplies for the settlers who’d be dropped off there as soon as it was.  “Right there.”

Mal stared at the map a moment, pulled back and stared some more.  He couldn’t just go running off throughout the ‘verse chasing this pirate.  With the (very small) advance Badger had grudgingly offered to get him going, he’d stocked up on extra fuel cells, and he was liable to burn right through them without _some_ kind of direction.  But there weren’t any other reports to go through, whoever this guy was, he stayed low and no one seemed to notice him.

“Hey, did you know that Mir means ‘peace’?” Wash stuck in cheerfully, somewhere in the background of Mal’s awareness as he mulled over the issue.  “Pretty ironic, since this Captain Hook guy just blasted a boatload of ‘peacekeepers’ out of the sk-”

“Bi zui,” Mal cut him off, rubbing a hand heavily across his eyes.  Wash fell silent, thankfully, as Mal tried to puzzle out where the pirate captain would be hiding.  He had some contacts in the area, a handful of honest folk who might be able to help.  But that meant landing, asking questions; and that wasn’t something he wanted to do until he absolutely had to.  The way Badger’d been acting, whoever wanted this Captain Hook was likely scary as hell.  And if the local townspeople had any idea who Hook was - or where - they might be pushed to lie straight to his face and he did _not_ look forward to sorting fact from fiction, or to having his questions reported to the pirate _or_ Badger’s mystery employer.

With a sigh, he pointed to a medium-sized moon, its orbit this time of year nearly in line with Mir and, he pretended not to notice, Hera.  He flat out ignored the black lettering of his former home world not too far away.

“Shenandoah,” Mal said firmly.  “Plot a course there, I know a fella’, might be able to help.”  He hoped the Sheriff would have some idea; it’d been a lot of years, and Mal knew the man wanted to stay as far away from politics as possible, but it was worth a shot.  Besides, if this lead didn’t pan out, at least it wasn’t a half-bad vacation spot, would do his crew good to feel like they had time for a quick break before heading out again.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Wash replied dutifully, pulling up the computer and setting up the trajectory.

* * *

Emma adjusted her dress, loathing the way the local costume fit, wishing once more that she could go in with her own clothing instead.  She always hated this part - dressing up to catch the target, pretending to be something she wasn’t, acting as if she was interested when she’d just as soon smash the guy over the head with a rock and cart him off without another word spoken.

She’d selected the Daedelus moon out of random desperation - it was close to the last reported activity from Captain Hook, the last Alliance ship he’d destroyed just a few hops away.  The nearby planets and moons didn’t seem the type of places she imagined he’d go - either too great of an Alliance presence or completely deserted.  Someone like him, she figured, would need a place to trade or sell the loot, and that required population.  Not _too_ big, but not too small either.

That left Shenandoah.

She’d flown across the surface of the moon, hastily scouring the ground below for some glimpse of civilizations.  A few small towns caught her eye, but there was no sign of his ship nearby.  Boat the size of the _Jolly Roger_ \- while not large by any standards - wouldn’t be too easy to hide among the surrounding sparse woodland, so she kept flying.

She’d found it after the fourth town she passed - the clear triangular shape of the former Alliance APB, now painted black along with the red that striped across her, no doubt to to hide her in the sky as much as possible.  But here she was, parked out in the open, not too far out from the town of Shiloh.

Emma had grinned when she saw it.  “Still got it,” she whispered to herself.

She hadn’t looked at the photo once as she landed her shuttle just a mile from his.

She headed to the town on foot, too long cooped up in space made her itch to be on land, to feel the earth beneath her feet, smell the air and just _breathe_.  It wasn’t too far, in any case, though the dress pinched in places - too tight, too uncomfortable for such a trek - but hopefully, _hopefully_ worth it.  Niska was offering quite a bit for him, claimed he stole a crate of precious cargo from him a few years back and he wanted his own brand of retribution.  Judging by the furnishings in the old man’s office, he had more than a little experience with both rare artifacts and retribution, the combination of relics from Earth-That-Was that decorated his walls alongside the torture chambers still made her shudder.

Walking through the main street of Shiloh, she saw a few shops, places for travellers to restock on their way out, places for locals to pick up goods for their farms or homesteads.  Sheriff’s station across from the bank, horses and small hovercrafts tied to posts outside the local stores all down the street.

She decided to start with the tavern first, despite the sun that still hung brightly in the late afternoon sky.  If Hook had a crew - which, ship that size, it stood to reason he had _someone_ with him - they’d probably be the type to look for some sort of drink after spending who knows how long up in space.  Pushing open the door, she nearly grinned widely again.

While the place could hardly be considered full.  There were a good number of patrons sipping from mugs and cups of various sizes, scattered in small groups or, in some cases, completely alone, throughout the small tavern.  A few of the men were clearly locals, dust-worn clothing and the hard look of men who knew work, who needed escape, who sought hope at the bottom of a glass.  The others didn’t seem to be from the world, their clothing different, weapons newer, their manner more fitting for those celebrating some accomplishment instead of looking for a place to forget the hardships of life on the edge of the ‘verse.

And in the corner sat Captain Hook himself.

There was no doubt in her mind who he was, the shiny metal hook attached to the end of his left arm resting on the table alongside his cup.  His blue eyes were somehow dark as he glanced around the room, as if keeping watch on his crew and the bar all at once.  He was young, so much younger than she thought he’d be, around her age if her guess was good, but there was something about him that made him seem so much… older.  There was a hardness to his face, the line of his mouth set firm, his cheekbones high, jaw dusted with an almost reddish scruff, his face framed in dark, nearly-black hair that didn’t quite seem to be able to lie in one single direction.

_Time to start acting._

Emma took a breath, as deeply as the corseted dress allowed anyway, and headed over to the pirate captain.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes flat, emotionless as she came closer to his table, and she was alarmed to realise that, after _years_ of successful bounty work, she almost lost her nerve.  Most men, at least, smiled when she approached - she knew she wasn’t hard on the eyes, especially with the dress squeezing her body in all the right places.  Most men, at least, looked her up and down, despite the plain fabric.  Most men, at least, looked _interested_.

But Hook was watching her eyes, the intense blue of them unsettling, and vaguely… familiar.  She had the briefest feeling she _knew_ him somehow, or at least understood him in a way she hadn’t anticipated.  And with the way he looked at her, as if he recognised her somehow, she knew she had to try harder to conceal herself.

“This seat taken?” she asked quietly, adjusting her long blonde hair behind her ears.

He smiled, just a small one, his lips barely moving and it didn’t reach anywhere close to his eyes.  “Afraid I’d like to be on my own, lass,” he answered quietly, his softly-accented voice surprisingly gentle but firm.

She cocked her head to the side, fixed him with a shy smile.  “Just looking to not be by myself right now,” she said.  “Here, I’ll even buy you a refill.  Please, don’t make a lady drink alone.”

He watched her for a moment more, and Emma couldn’t help feeling like he was evaluating her, judging her, and she only hoped her disguise held up to his scrutiny.  After a handful of seconds, which somehow felt even longer, he nodded.

“Aye, all right.”

She grinned and sank slowly into the chair at his side, careful to stay out of his line of sight around the small tavern.  If he really was as valuable as Niska seemed to claim, no doubt he had other enemies, and no doubt he knew it.  Better not to make him nervous, she figured.  He raised his hand, waving to the bartender, who rushed over to top off his cup, to place another before her and offer her the same stuff Hook was drinking.  She nodded and he poured some for her as well.

Hook lifted his cup, silently observing the contents as if it held some mystery only he knew, before allowing himself a small sip.  She raised her glass and took a drink, swallowing back the burn with a slight grimace.

“I take it you’re not from around here?” she asked, twisting her cup in her hand.

He shook his head, but didn’t say a word.

“Mysterious, I like that,” she grinned.

Hook glanced at her over the top of his cup, one dark eyebrow raised as he lowered it.  “Lass, I don’t know what you think I’m-”

“No,” she said quickly, her hand up.  “I’m not… I mean, I wasn’t looking for… you know.”  She couldn’t believe she was actually _blushing_.  Most men this far into what must be at least their second drink didn’t even question her act, just took it at face value.

Clearly, this Hook wasn’t most men.

She looked down at her hands, the cup between her fingers, and let some of the fake cheer bleed out, slipped some of herself in instead.  “I just… I don’t want to be alone today.”  She raised her eyes, meeting his for a long minute, hoping there was just enough vulnerability in them that a man like him would notice.

It worked.  “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured.  “I’m afraid I’m not the best of company right now, but you’re welcome to sit here, if you’d like.”

Small victory, but she’d take it.  She flashed him a tired smile, one she didn’t have to fake.  “Thanks.”

They sat for a while longer, no words between them, just their drinks for company, and she was surprised to find that it wasn’t really so awkward.  He didn’t pressure her to say anything and she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence, just let it rest comfortably, stretched across the table in the spaces between them.  At some point, Hook had waved over the barkeep again to bring a refill, and she took the chance to try and restart a conversation.

“What brings you to this forgotten moon?” she asked hesitantly, hoping she hadn’t just pushed him to shutting down for good.  If she could just get him to trust her, even a little bit, it would make the capturing portion of her job that much easier.

“Just passing through, love,” he said quietly.  He fixed her with that unnervingly-intense stare again, and she nearly flinched with the depth of it.  “How about you, why have you come here?”

Emma nearly startled visibly, surprised he’d figured that out.  She’d selected her clothing specifically to blend in with the locals - she had even seen one woman wearing one almost exactly the same.  There was no way he should’ve been able to figure out she wasn’t from here.

“How do you know I’m not from here?” she asked.

“Not enough dust and despair.”  He smiled, the same one that didn’t travel close enough to his eyes to make her feel any more relaxed.  “Besides, you’re something of an open book, love.”

“Oh, really,” she started, forcing a slow grin across her face, though she felt only dread building slowly inside her.  If he knew, if he figured out who she was, what she was after, she never would get close enough to finish the job.  “You’re sure you’ve got me all figured out, is that it?”

Hook smiled again, but didn’t answer.

“It’s peaceful out here,” she said, answering his question, once again trying for as close to honesty as she could handle.

Quiet reigned for a moment, then his soft voice shattered it.  “Aye, it is that.”

“Been a long time since I’ve had that, just wanted to remember.  Thought this place would be as good as any of the outer worlds, place to stretch a bit.”  She looked down at her cup again.  She did love it out here - the quiet, the space, the honest life working the ground, the fields, working for the stuff that made life, sustained it, just to repeat the cycle until the life was done.  None of the lies of the Central planets, none of the fake lives they led, the social status more important than a real day’s work.

Emma risked a glance up to his face, to his eyes.  She was glad to see his gaze start to soften a bit, something thawing inside him, something he understood, and she couldn’t shake that air of familiarity once more, of something they shared despite their obvious differences.

“I hear that,” he said, sounding very, very tired.  “More than you know, love.”

She was afraid to say more, having already revealed so much about herself, more than she thought she would when she’d entered the tavern earlier.  But when he didn’t speak, she decided to just go for it, put the ball in his court.

“I have to see about resupplying my ship.  How about you meet me back here in a few hours?” she offered.  “Maybe you’ll be feeling up to having company, and you can tell me everything you’ve supposedly figured out about me.  How does that sound?”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes widened fractionally, or how the line of his mouth pressed just a bit straighter, harder.  He looked about to run, she could see it in his eyes.  And he could.  He could pack up his crew and fly off, in which case she’d have to be waiting just outside his ship.  Or, he could actually decide to show up, could be intrigued enough by her to want to talk more.

“I’ll be here,” he said slowly, the urge to flee fading from his eyes.

She smiled.  “Good.”  She stood quickly, surprised when he did as well, and reached into her pocket to pull out a few coins, but he waved his hand.

“I’ll take care of this round, love,” he said.

“Now you decide to be a gentleman?” she grinned.

“I’m always a gentleman,” Hook said, and for the first time since she walked over to his table, he offered her a genuine smile.  Small, the lines at his eyes crinkling ever so slightly, but it was a step.  “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Emma Swan,” she said automatically.  She couldn’t bear to leave him with one of her aliases, not after the tiny glimpses of honesty she’d caught in his eyes, not when his pain seemed to match her own.  “And you are...?”

“Hook,” he waved at his left arm and the gleaming metal she’d all but forgotten.  “Captain Hook.”

He reached out his hand, and she took it, grasping his strong fingers, feeling the callouses along them hinting at a harder life than just spaceflight, and wondered again just who he really was.

“See you later,” she smiled, and he nodded.

“Aye, later.”

Without another word, hoping that she would, indeed, see him in a few hours time, she released his hand and left the tavern.

* * *

Hook watched her leave, her skirts rustling as she pushed through the doorway and out to the street.  This Emma Swan, whoever she was, definitely wasn’t who she seemed to be.  He had the distinct impression he was being played by her, despite trying to remain as distant as possible, but there was something in her eyes, something he’d seen, almost familiar…  There was no way she’d faked that.

He knew.  He’d spent years trying to get rid of it from his own eyes.

He let out a slow breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding.  Whoever she was, she would be back later, and he had every intention of trying to clear his head beforehand, to figure out what it was she wanted with him, why she’d come over to him when it was obvious he wanted no such company.  She clearly wanted him to think she was a common tavern wench, and it was almost believable.  He was no stranger to them - most planets he’d been to had the women (and men) in droves, just looking for work among the people most likely to have the credit.  They weren’t Companions, weren’t officially recognised, but most men coming off a long space journey weren’t really looking for certification.  They just wanted the warm body of someone who cared about them, even if that someone cared more for the coin they’d get at the end of the night than about the men personally.  He’d had his fair share of nights spent in such a woman’s company, though not in quite some time, and Emma Swan was definitely _not_ one of them.

There was something else about her, something she was hiding, and he was determined to figure out what it was.

Smee turned to look at him, to wave brightly at him, and Hook successfully managed to suppress the urge to groan out loud.

“I’m heading back to the ship for a bit,” he said instead.

Smee stood up immediately.  “I can come with you, if you -”

“No need, Mister Smee” Hook said, holding up his hand.  “I’ll be back here in an hour or so, don’t wait for me.”  Smee nodded, but didn’t look too happy at the prospect of his Captain galavanting around town on his own.

Hook reached into his jacket, pulled out a few fresh bills from the ammunition sale he’d completed just after arrival, and handed them to the barkeep.  The man gave him a toothless grin, offered him the rest of the bottle of whatever moonshine he’d already tasted, but Hook shook his head and made his way to the back door.  He didn’t need the alcohol, not anymore, he just needed to think.

Ship was parked just a mile outside town, wouldn’t take too long to get back to her.  As much as he enjoyed the stretch of land beneath his feet, the wide, blue sky painting the ceiling over his head, it brought back too many memories, too many places he needed to forget, for it to ever truly feel like home.  He itched to be back up in the sky, the decks of the _Jolly_ under him as they travelled across the universe and through the stars.

He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him, didn’t hear the man shadowing his movements, didn’t notice anything until something heavy struck him hard, just behind his ear, the world turning, turning, turning, until the sky went black and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews? Comments? Favourite Firefly character?


	3. Never As Simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's been acting up a little extra hard lately, so I apologise for not having this out as fast as I wanted. I have to thank everyone who's still reading this little crossover adventure, but especially @icecubelotr44, who's pushing, cajoling, bribing, dragging, excitedly encouraging me to continue writing this at every step of the way. She's awesome and I don't deserve her help getting back in the groove.

**_ _ **

**_Never As Simple_ **

_He brings in the heavy crates one at a time, scraping them against the floor of the Firefly as he drags them up the ramp.  He’s sweating, the muscles in his arms tired and sore from a long day’s work, but he says nothing, doesn’t make a sound as he wipes an arm across his forehead.  He’d learned long ago not to complain._

_He drops one of them heavily on a section of the floor just inside the cargo bay doors.  He cringes at the noise, hopes nobody inside the ship hears, hopes nobody comes to check on him.  He can’t afford another stretch in the hold, can’t risk seeing more disappointment in his brother’s eyes at the failure he’s become._

_The crate stowed, he heads back down the ramp to get the remaining boxes and packages that need to be brought on board before they depart.  His brother’s in town with the other crew members, pulling in extra shifts to save as much of their meager payment as he can, hoping to buy their freedom one day, maybe even purchase a commission in the Alliance Navy._

_Talk of war breaking out is at every port.  There’s need for men, soldiers, officers to crew the ships that will be deployed.  His brother wants to join the cause, and so does he.  He needs to join.  More than anything, he needs to help fight the lawlessness that’s rampant on the border worlds - planets and moons he knows only too well.  If only the Alliance had been there when he and his brother were sold, if only someone would learn about the child servants that are traded in every dark corner of the ‘verse, if only someone could prevent it from happening to others._

_He sighs quietly and bends to lift another box when a man walks past the loading dock, dark eyes fixed on him as he straightens.  He looks away quickly, focuses his attention on the crate in his hands, the metal cuff at his wrist rubbing painfully against the wooden slats.  He steps closer to the ship, lifts one foot to climb the ramp, when a hand touches his arm and he nearly drops the box in alarm._

_He turns to look, the man now beside him.  A young man, looks almost younger than he is, but there’s a cunning glint in his eyes, a dark light that speaks of plans and power and worlds of adventure._

_“Excuse me,” the man says, his voice soft, almost gentle.  “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”_

_He coughs and turns away, the box heavy in his arms.  “Not supposed to talk to people,” he forces out quietly.  “Cap’n is in town, if you need him.”_

_“It’s not your captain I need,” the man says, “it’s you.”_

_He stops, frozen in place.  “Me?  I assure you, I’m nothing but-”_

_“You’re exactly the sort of person I need.”_

_He looks back then, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “What do you want with me?”_

_The man laughs, a musical sound that almost sounds genuinely cheerful.  “Don’t look so worried.  I just wanted to offer you a job.”_

_“Like I said,” he says quietly, moving to head back to the ship, “you’ll want the captain.”_

_“There’s payment in it for you,” the man offers quickly, reaching inside his expensive suit to pull out a thick envelope.  “All you need to do is hide this package on your ship, bring it with you to Persephone.  My man there will pick it up from you, he’ll tell you the code word so you’ll know it’s him, and he’ll give you the other half of the money then.”_

_He hesitates, just for a moment but it’s enough.  He eyes the small envelope as he places the box on the ground near his feet, a hundred different hiding places already in mind._

_“Even if someone on your crew finds it,” the man continues, “you won’t even get in trouble for it, I guarantee it’s nothing of importance to them.”_

_“Then why ask me?  Why not hide it yourself among the packages?  I wouldn’t have noticed.”_

_The man smiles.  “No, you wouldn’t have.”  He steps forward, his hands atop a thin cane.  “As I said, I’m looking for someone just like you.  I have a network of worlds where I do… business - buying, selling, trading - and I need someone who’ll protect my goods, ensure they stay safe during transport.  There will be payment, of course.  All you have to do is deliver the package safely to the person on the other side.  How does five credits sound now, with another five when you hand over the envelope on Persephone?”_

_Ten.  Ten credits.  It’s more than he and his brother can make in a month.  And for simply bringing an envelope to a place the ship’s already going._

_“All right,” he says quietly, unable to believe he’s really doing this, unable to get the idea of so much money out of his head.  “I’ll do it.”_

_“Excellent!” the man grins as he passes the package.  He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a few coins, hands them over as well.  “The man on Persephone will give you the rest of the money when you get there.  He’ll also have another job waiting for you, if you’re interested.”_

_He accepts the coins in one hand, the package in the other, leans over to allow the man to whisper the code in his ear.  His hand closes on the cool metal, the embossed markings pressing into his palm as he memorises the word.  He quickly stuffs the coins into his pocket and looks up at the man._

_“A pleasure doing business with you,” the man says, offering another wide smile, twisting his walking stick in his hand.  “I hope to get the chance to work with you again.”  With that, the man turns and walks away from the ship, his cane thumping quietly on the ground with every other step._

_He watches the man leave, hardly daring to breathe until he’s gone from sight.  Ten coins, for something he can do, something he won’t mess up, can’t mess up.  He tucks the package under his thin jacket, plans to hide it the moment he gets inside.  His fist is still tightly clenched around the money in his pocket and he slowly releases his grip on them, unwilling to let go of his new hope for a better life, for freedom.  He’ll have to hide that, too, once he finds a safe place, somewhere the crew won’t steal it._

_As he reaches for box he’d been carrying, he feels the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth._

* * *

Emma stepped out of the tavern, wishing she could breathe in more air than the tightly-corseted dress would allow.  She needed to leave the building, to be away from Hook, to get back to her shuttle, to _think_ , but she couldn’t, not so close to _him_.

She hurried back through the town, back the way she came, trying hard to clear her head.  He unnerved her, that was putting it mildly.  It'd been a long time since a mark had gotten under her skin like that, pushed her to be that honest, that open.

And that wasn't even the scariest part, for her.  That he'd responded to her vulnerability, that she expected; most men did whenever she chanced to let a little bit of herself show.  What she hadn't counted on were the naked truths in his eyes that matched her own.  Whoever he was, whatever he'd done to Niska, she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, some way, she and Captain Hook were the same.

She stopped at the shops in town on her way out, arranged to have her shuttle refueled and ordered more food and general supplies to be delivered within the hour, her clothes bothering her more with each passing minute.  By the time she made it back to her shuttle, she was ready to rip her dress to shreds.  She’d already tripped over the long hem at least a dozen times on the hike back, and her feet were aching to get into familiar boots.  She waited until the resupply truck brought her order, though, until the men brought the stuff inside, until she over-tipped them for hurrying so quickly to keep to her timetable, until they drove away - a cloud of dust trailing behind them as they headed back to downtown Shiloh.

 _Then_ she ripped it off, discarding various skirts and petticoats and laces haphazardly across the narrow bed.  She sighed out loud when she pulled on familiar clothing, relaxing into them.  Her disguise didn’t matter anymore, not after Hook had seen right through it, not after she’d let him.  She tugged on her boots, grabbed her favourite red leather jacket, and headed back into town.

Night was falling, the glow of the other moons of Daedelus rising in the blackened sky as the stars began to shine - some she knew, most she didn’t.  Wide stretches of land beneath her, open sky above.  A part of her wished she could stop pushing herself onward, wished she could just find a world, wished she could just _live_.  Stop running, stop working, find a house, and make it home, somewhere - anywhere - in the ‘verse.

But another part of her knew, another part _remembered_.  Small green eyes and tousled baby hair, tiny hugs and sloppy kisses, little shoes and a heart of gold.  She couldn’t stop, not until she found him, not until she knew what happened to him all those years ago.

Emma took a steadying breath, feeling the tug of the shoulder holster strapped under her jacket, her loaded weapon inside it, and headed straight into town.

She found the tavern again quickly, earning a few stares for the clothes she wore which were definitely not local, but nobody really cared.  Enough travellers passed through, she guessed, that pilots weren’t all that rare a breed.  She nodded to the few polite enough to toss her a quick “Good evening,” and pushed open the tavern door.

He wasn’t inside.

She glanced around the room, checking to make sure he hadn’t switched tables, moved somewhere else, but there was no sign of him anywhere.  The others, the ones who’d been there earlier, still sat scattered through the room, either huddled over their drinks or playing some card game or other at their tables.  Maybe he had left, as she had.  Maybe he would still come back, after he saw to whatever business he needed to take care of.

Maybe he hadn’t left her there alone.

She headed to the table he’d vacated, sat wearily into one of the chairs.  Waving to the bartender, she ordered herself a drink and settled in to wait.

* * *

Zoe Washburne stood up from behind the chair, tugging once more on the cuffs that tied the man’s arms behind him.  Without his left hand, it was tricky to find a good way to secure him to the chair, but she’d settled for wrapping it around his forearm just below the elbow and it seemed secure enough.  Would probably pull something fierce on his shoulders when he woke up, though.  For now, Captain Hook’s head rested limply on his chest, unconscious from Jayne’s blow earlier.

“Didn’t have to hit him so hard,” she called across the cargo bay to glare at the mercenary.

Jayne didn’t even look up from where he sat on the steps, cleaning his gun occupying all of his attention.  “Cap’n wasn’t real specific as to how he needed ‘im.  Unconscious is always easier.”

Zoe sighed quietly and walked around the chair.  She took in as much about the other captain as she could figure with him still out.  He was younger than she imagined from Badger’s description, unruly dark hair falling across his face making him seem even younger, but he wasn’t that much younger than any of them.  He wore a long black coat, leather from the feel of it, that didn’t look cheap or practical.  Either he didn’t need to worry about moving quickly in a fight, or he was stronger than he looked.

Footsteps approached from somewhere upstairs, heading down to the cargo bay.  The Captain stepped off the bottom step and came over to the bound, unconscious, pirate captain.

“He start stirrin’ yet?” he asked, glancing quickly to the man in the chair.

“No, sir,” she replied evenly.

“Damn,” the Captain said.  “He better get up soon, only so long I can keep the rest of the crew occupied elsewhere.  Ship ain’t that big, and I don’t want them mucking up this business.”

Zoe pursed her lips tightly.  “Sir, are you sure we should even _be_ in this business?”

The Captain turned to her quickly.  “I thought we already had this discussion.”

“We did,” she acknowledged, looking down at the knocked-out pirate.  “It’s just that it doesn’t feel right, sir.  We don’t kidnap people, never have and I sure as hell don’t think we should be starting now.”

The Captain looked startled.  “It’s not- I mean, this isn’t- not really, anyway.  It’s temporary, we hold him just until we get the money.  We talked about this, Zoe.”

She sighed again, gathering the will to continue.  “I know.  And it’s good coin, I know that too, sir.  I just don’t want to watch us lose who we are just to get more cash.”

His face darkened and he looked away.  “No way ‘round it, Zoe.  Can’t keep playing nice out here, not with everyone out to trample us.”  His tone was final, and she didn’t push it further.  Besides, the guy was already tied up in their cargo bay.  Regret wouldn’t undo the problem, no matter what she thought about it.

They weren’t fighting a war anymore, hadn’t been for a long time.  There were no principles anymore, no clear right or wrong, no reason to keep fighting when they’d lost so much in that valley six years ago.  Everything they were out here, everything they tried to be, was whatever they made it.  And she knew that all too well, knew that Mal had tried to keep his moral compass, even out in the black where nobody cared.  But the bottom line was - they were thieves.  They did the jobs no one else would, limped on from payment to payment to another illegal salvage, another train heist, another personal treasure stolen.

This was just another job.

The man in the chair moved just then, let out a quiet cough, and she could only see his eyes squeezed tightly under the sweep of his hair as he groaned.  He turned his head to the side, tried to lift it, but gave up with another brief moan.

Jayne _really_ hadn’t needed to hit him so hard.

“Hey, you up?” the Captain called, bending over to get a better look.  Zoe kept her hand on her sidearm, just in case.  “Got a few questions for you.”

“I’m sure I can think of a few of my own as well,” the pirate bit back, his eyes still closed in a tight grimace.

Slowly, he cracked open his eyes, blinking against the bright light, sucking in a quick breath as he looked up, his eyes darting back and forth.  He gasped again, his head whipping around.  But it wasn’t pain in his eyes, it wasn’t anger as she expected from his tone.  It was… fear?

He looked wildly around the room, his breath coming faster and faster, painfully quick, his fear growing to what looked like absolute _horror_.  He squeezed his eyes shut, pushed his head back down to his chest as he struggled to get his breathing under control.  “Get me off this ship,” he ground out between desperate wheezes.

“Questions first,” the Captain tried, trading a worried glance with Zoe, just as confused as she was.  What was he so afraid of?

Hook still hadn’t looked up.  He was panting roughly, eyes opening briefly, looking around for just a moment before he closed them again.  “Not here,” he growled.  “I’ll answer whatever you want, just take me off this ship.”

The Captain nodded, and she held onto Hook’s arm, helping him up from the chair.  She half expected him to shrug her off, but he didn’t.  He kept his head down, eyes fixed on the floor as she led him toward the doors.

“Watch your step,” she said quietly.  “Just before the door, there’s -”

“Warped section of floor,” Hook mumbled, “I know.”

How he could have known that, she had no idea, but this wasn’t the time to ask.  She walked him down the ramp, a few paces away in the darkened desert brush where the Captain waited.  Each step away from the ship, she could feel Hook’s tensed muscles relaxing a little more, his breath returning to something like normal.

Zoe released her hold on his arm when they stopped walking, moved closer to the Captain, her weapon comfortably ready beneath her fingers.  Jayne stepped out with them, stood on the Captain’s other side, his gun slung carelessly over his shoulder, a bite of something in his mouth which he chewed obnoxiously, as usual.

She kept an eye on Hook, trying to notice anything the Captain might miss in case they needed it later.  The deal smelled, more with each passing minute, more than usual, which was saying something considering where they got it.  She needed to be prepared, in case things went sideways.

“So?  You’re ready to talk now?” the Captain asked, arms crossed on his chest.

“Aye,” Hook replied.  His eyes narrowed in the semi-darkness.  “What is it you want with me?”

“We were sent to collect a debt from you, a pretty big load of cash you owe.”

“Oh?” Hook said, his eyebrow raised.  “Who is it you represent?”

“Fella called Badger,” the Captain said tersely.

“Slimy lout running shady deals off Persephone?”

“That’s the one.  Guess you’ve met him, then.”

“Heard of him, haven’t had the pleasure,” Hook responded, giving them a wry half-smile.

The Captain relaxed, imperceptible except to Zoe.  “You ain’t missing much.”

Hook shifted where he stood, twisting a little in the restraints on his arms.  “Well, you’ve obviously got me outnumbered and outgunned, and these cuffs are playing hell with my arm, so if you’ll kindly cut me loose-”

“No can do,” the Captain shook his head.  “Sorry.  I was warned not to underestimate you. Besides, can't really trust someone who blows fully-manned ships out of the sky”

“Alliance only,” Hook growled angrily.  “Unless there's something you're not telling me, your quarrel is not with me.”

A flash of recognition jolted through Zoe at that.  She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something _familiar_ about this pirate captain, though she couldn’t quite place it.  She tossed a look toward the Captain and, the way he looked back, she knew he felt it too.  She’d never even _heard_ of Captain Hook before Badger, but they’d met before, of that she was certain.

“I'm pretty sure I don't owe this Badger anything,” Hook was saying.  “What does he want with me?  I crash his ship?  Steal his puppy?”

The Captain waited a beat, sizing up the man in front of him.  “Not exactly” he said slowly.  “It's for the man he’s working for, guy who wants to keep himself all mysterious-like.  Why he wants that, I don’t rightly know.  Can’t imagine why anyone would want to have a secret identity.”

Hook let out a laugh that was anything but humourous.  “So how am I supposed to know who it is who wants me?  I’ve crossed a lot of people.”

“Said you’d know with a code word,” the Captain said.  “Now, all this sneaking around, hiding behind fake names and codes, ain’t really my thing.  I’d just as soon deal directly, but this guy don’t seem to want that, though he very much wants us to deal with _you_.”

“He’ll have to get in line,” Hook grunted.  “What is this code word?”

The Captain scowled.  “Word is ‘Ares.’”

Hook stiffened, froze in place, almost didn’t seem to breathe, and the fear from a few minutes ago returned to his eyes in full force.  He stared straight ahead, not looking at her, the Captain, or Jayne, didn’t seem to be looking at anything at all.

A lump settled heavily in Zoe’s stomach as she glanced quickly at the Captain.  He frowned to her before turning back to watch their captive.

She couldn’t help wondering once again what the hell Badger had gotten them all into.

* * *

It took a few moments for Hook to get his heart to start beating again, for him to remember how to draw in air, for the world to resume turning.   _Ares_.  It couldn’t be.  It _couldn’t_.

But it was.  There was no way this Badger person could have known to use the word otherwise.  After all these years, after all this time, his past was finally catching up to him, and he was quite literally tied in place.

“That mean something to you, then?” the man across from him said, his arms folded over his all-too-familiar brown coat.  Hook hadn’t seen one of those in… well, not long enough, that was for sure.

Hook nodded once, his mouth dry.  He swallowed anyway.  “It does.”

He tugged again at the cuffs on his arms, the one on his left digging into his forearm.  Clever, clasping it there, he had to give them credit.  He’d been cuffed before, no one had quite figured out how to deal with his missing hand, usually to his benefit.  The way his arm was bent pulled fiercely at his right shoulder, and he tried once again to adjust the angle to relieve some of the tension.

“So you know that I’m legit,” the other captain said evenly.

“Aye,” he sighed quietly.

“I’m gonna need that money you owe.  Then you can be on your merry and we don’t need to mention this again.”

Hook was quiet for a moment, sizing up the other man.  He’d seen him before, another place, another time.  He couldn’t quite place when, or where, but the look in the Firefly captain’s eyes… he’d recognise it anywhere.  The look of someone left behind, abandoned, betrayed.  It was something he saw everyday - in his crew’s eyes and in his own, when he chanced a look in the mirror.

He didn’t know the other captain’s name, didn’t know anything about him other than the job he intended to finish.  Maybe he was a criminal, looking out for only himself and his crew, taking illegal jobs to keep himself occupied.  Maybe he was an honest man just looking to make a living in a dishonest universe.  Maybe he’d been a soldier once upon a time, too.

Didn’t really matter, he still had those damned cuffs locked firmly on his arms and a debt he needed to repay.

“How much?” he asked.  “I assume he’s tacked on interest to the original amount, yes?”

“400,000 credits.”

Hook let out a low breath.  He knew it would be a large amount, the money he’d run off with all those years ago was hardly insignificant then, not to mention the… package he’d failed to deliver as promised.  After nearly nine years, it was bound to be much, much more than the original sum.

“That’s… quite a large number, Captain,” Hook said finally.  “Unfortunately, it’s more than what I have on me at the moment.”

“And on your ship?” the other man asked.

“Aye,” he replied.  He shifted in the restraints again, the metal digging into his arm.  “I think I know a way to get you what you need, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to trust me.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed, arms crossing a little tighter over his chest.  “You gonna explain to me why that’s a good idea, I suppose?”

Hook grinned.  “I bet you’re used to not trusting other people, eh?”  He counted it a victory that the captain visibly recoiled at his assumption.  “I suppose that’s fair.  I know the routes and rough schedules of the Alliance supply ships in this area.  Mostly to moons being terraformed, though a few get sent to border worlds to resupply the local army garrisons.  You take me with you, I can help you obtain one and get you on board.  You take whatever loot you want and I’ll help you find places to offload it to get your cash.”

The captain frowned, exchanging a glance with his first mate, who hadn’t looked pleased since the moment he had regained consciousness.  The back of his head throbbed suddenly, just to remind him of the lump that was still there, no doubt.

“Why do I need you?” the captain asked.  “Why not keep you locked up here while we go loot the cargo on our own?”

“You need me with you,” he smirked in response.  “More accurately, you need my ship.  Yours is grossly under-equipped to take on a light-bulk transport, let alone an Alliance supply ship.  I can take you where you need to go, but as I said, you’ll have to trust me.”

“You haven’t told me why I should.  What’s in it for you?”

Hook shrugged, as best he could with the tight cuffs on his arms.  “Pleasure of the job, I guess.  Plus it gets an old debt off my hands.  You’d be doing me a favour, really.  And anything you take that’s over the 400k, you can keep.  I’m not scheduled to hit another target for another few weeks, you can have the whole lot.”

He saw the other man considering it, the large gorilla-sized brute on his left trading looks with the captain and first mate.  He relaxed a little, almost certain of their answer.  Nobody could refuse the offer of extra coin in their pocket, least of all desperate men on the edge of space.  And he really didn’t care what happened to the rest of the bounty from the hit.  As long as it got Ares off his conscious, he’d give it all to the Firefly crew.

While the three conferred amongst themselves, Hook glanced warily toward the ship once more.  He was certain it was the same one from his childhood, the one on which he’d spent so many years with his brother.  The warped section of flooring was definitely the same as the day he’d dropped the crate on it, denting it forever no matter how many hours he’d been forced to spend trying to hammer it back into place.  How this captain had gotten his hands on this exact ship, he almost didn’t want to know.  Surely none of the crew from his days aboard were still employed on it, they’d be far too old to be useful anymore.

He hoped.

He shuddered a little and turned back to the captain.

“Deal,” the man said firmly.  “But I bring as many of my crew as necessary.  And the first sign of trouble, I’m bringing your body back to Badger and he can figure the rest out on his lonesome.  Dong ma?”

Hook nodded.  “Understood.  Shall we arrange to leave in the mor-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.  The hard, cold, unmistakable feel of metal at his temple stopped him mid-word, a hand tugging at the cuffs on his arms, pulling him backwards painfully.  He hissed, trying to stay as still as possible, to figure out what the hell was going on.

“You’re not going anywhere with them, buddy,” a very familiar voice said in his ear.

The captain and his crew had their guns out in a flash.  “Ah ah,” the female voice behind him said.  “Drop your weapons, or he gets a bullet to the brain.”  The Firefly crew hesitated, but only for a moment.  Their weapons clattered to the ground.  

“Thought you could just disappear, stand me up for our date?” the woman said, a hint of a smile in her voice.   _Well, this day just keeps getting more and more interesting,_ he couldn’t help thinking.

“My apologies, love,” he grinned, then winced as the gun pushed harder against his already bruised head.  “I’ve been a bit… tied up.”

Behind him, Emma Swan let out a laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave reviews, comments, or send messages, I love hearing from readers. Oh, and free cookies to anyone who can finish the rest of the title quote. =)


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